


Bright Like A Diamond

by bluflamingo



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Stanley Cup Playoffs, Vegas Golden Knights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/pseuds/bluflamingo
Summary: Sid and Flower, together and apart, during the first year of the Golden Knights.





	Bright Like A Diamond

**Author's Note:**

> This is for scrollgirl, even though they're not her pairing, because it turns out that the way to correctly predict the Stanley Cup winner is actually through knowledge and research (her) rather than affection for the team (me). It was close though!

The truth is, they've probably been a little bit in love with each other since the beginning: with each other's hockey, and each other's dorky smiles; Sid with Flower's good-natured teasing, his soft, easy affection, the way he sounds speaking French; Flower with Sid's weirdness, the sweet way his real personality unfurls around the team where he feels safe, the way his eyes go dark when they're behind and he's decided they're going to win.

It's probably fair to say they fall in love with each other a long time before they fall in lust, but when they do fall, they fall hard –

_"Fuck, fuck, that's so good, don't stop, right there," Sid babbles, clutching at Flower's shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, like he can keep Flower right where he is, so close, pressing Sid down into the mattress, if he just clings hard enough – like he needs to cling, like Flower wants to be anywhere else but there, holding on just as hard, grinding together, both of them right on the edge of coming, so intense it's hard to breathe –_

That part's easy, or easier than it should be when Flower's married and Sid's in the closet, and they're both famous hockey players. But Vero and Sid are friends, and Sid loves their daughters, as close as he'll ever get to having his own, and maybe it's weird to feel like a family when he's only Flower's partner, not Vero's, and still lives by himself, but that's what they are, in the end. 

The team, or at least the parts of it that stick around, know Sid's gay, and some of the long-term guys know that Flower's bisexual though he's only ever really been with Vero, as far as they know. But Sid's afraid of people thinking Flower's cheating on Vero, that he's helping Flower cheat on her, of them looking at him with pity, like they think he could do better, or like he's missing out. Flower, because one of them has to be the person who doesn't worry as much, and that person will never be Sidney, asks gently about telling some of the others – Geno, or Duper, someone they both trust, so that Sid has someone, if it all goes wrong – but only ever asks once, seeing the freak-out the question triggers for Sid.

No-one really notices when they go from close friends to partners, anyway, and it's all so good, it's perfect.

Until Vegas, and the Golden Knights.

*

Sid knows, when his phone buzzes right as he's getting home from an evening run, what it means. He's not tempted to ignore it – that won't make the news go away, and it's not like he doesn't know what Flower's going to say – but he does wait to answer until he's standing in the open arch between the hall and the kitchen, where he can't see any of the windows.

"Hey, Sid," Flower says softly.

Sid smiles, even though Flower can't see it, and doesn't say anything. His free hand starts trembling. They've barely talked about this, the two of them, because Flower wants two things that can't both happen – to stay and to play – and Sid's not selfish enough to ask Flower to give up playing in order to stay, but can't bring himself to say that Flower should give up on staying in order to play.

"I just spoke to my agent, and the GMs. I told them I'd waive my no-movement clause, if it's for Vegas." He says it quietly, and Sid pictures him in the soft armchair in the corner of the girls' room, phone tucked against his shoulder and Scarlett in his lap, even though it's late enough that they'll both be asleep, and Flower's probably standing at the back door, looking out at the darkness of his backyard.

"I know," he says, just as quiet. "It's – they're lucky to have you." They are, but so were the Penguins, lucky to have him and keep him for so long. Sid likes Murray, of course, but – but he _loves_ Flower, Pittsburgh loves him, he won the Cup with them, more than once. "I'm proud of you."

Flower laughs. "Merci, mon capitaine." Sid laughs a little as well, because even in his own head, that comment didn't have much context, was just one of the endless stream of semi-meaningless captain soundbites Sid carries in his head. "I'm sorry, Sid."

"Me, too," Sid says, because when it comes right down to it, he's the captain, the Penguins are his team, and what the hell good is any of that if he can't even keep Flower with them?

*

"Hey," Kris says as Sid, head down, steps out of the bar and into the cool night air. It's been a week since Flower's pending move to the Knights became common knowledge within the team, and Sid feels like he's forgotten everything he ever knew about camouflage and faking it. 

He hadn't even noticed Tanger was gone, or that he was leaning against the wall to the left of the fire door, which Sid is using to sneak away in the hopes that none of the rookies Geno bugged him into accompanying will notice he's done it. Tanger just falls into step with Sid as he heads for the parking lot. "You know we're all going to miss him," he says.

Sid nods. When he so much as thinks about Flower leaving – about the house he knows better than his own filling up with boxes, and then empty, or worse, with someone else living there; about a locker room without Flower's fleur-de-lis goalie mask and flights sat next to an empty seat – he feels like he's going to choke on it. 

When he thinks about all the nights going home to an empty house when he used to go home with Flower; about curling up in his too-big too-cold bed with no-one to put their cold feet on his bare calves; about an empty drawer that used to hold enough clothes for two overnights in a row without anyone suspecting anything… That's when he just hurts.

"Some of us more than the others." 

Sid nods again, digs his car keys out of his jeans and tries to remember where he parked. 

Kris slings an arm round his shoulders, but when Sid looks over, he's is looking back, expression serious and eyes too knowing. "That's hockey," Sid says, quiet enough that maybe Kris won't notice the way his voice cracks. 

"Yes," Kris says, and he looks like he wants to say something more, but in the end all he says is, "Shearsy drove you," and waits on the street with him till the cab Sid calls picks him up.

*

Two weeks before training camp starts, Flower comes back to Pittsburgh on his own for a few days: to sign the last of the paperwork for the sale of their house, to pick up a few things he left at the rink, to say the last goodbyes.

He's staying with Sid, he tells everyone who even looks like they're thinking about asking, because his house is sold, and he'd rather stay with a friend than in a hotel. He doesn't tell them about how sad Sid looks when he thinks Flower's not watching; he keeps that for texting with Vero, and tries to help with pictures of the girls and lots of hugs.

That's what they're doing, Flower's last night there, half asleep on Sid's couch because if they don't go to bed, then they can almost pretend that Flower's not going to get on a plane tomorrow, that he'll drive home, or with Sid to the rink. Flower's drifting, halfway to sleep, tucked against the back of the couch with Sid curled in his arms, head tucked into his neck, warm and quiet, and Flower closes his eyes, breathes in the feeling and tries not to think about when they'll get it again.

They really should go to bed – the flight's going to be bad enough already, without adding a night of sleeping on the couch. He's thinking about Estelle, though, demanding Vero let her talk to Papa on the phone and then asking Flower if she could talk to Uncle Sid. And he's thinking about the stricken look on Sid's face when Flower relayed the message, how he shook his head and looked like he was going to cry, how it made Flower want to cry in turn. He's not lying when he says he's excited about Vegas and the Knights, about building up a brand new team, and the crazy spectacle of hockey in Vegas. It's just that he's also not lying when he says how much he'll miss the Penguins; when he doesn't talk about how much it hurts, or how they're a family that he doesn't want to break up.

Sid breathes against his collarbone, a slight shift in tone like he's maybe waking up. Or – 

"Hey," Flower says quietly, squeezing him closer for a moment.

Sid presses into the contact, one hand curled in Flower's T-shirt. "Don't go," he says, breathed out against Flower's skin. "Please don't leave."

Flower presses a kiss to the top of Sid's head, feels Sid blink damp against his neck. "I'm not leaving you," he says, even though his heart aches like he is, like they'll never see each other again. "We'll always be together."

Sid sniffs again. "Don't go. I don't want to be here without you."

"I don't want to go without you, either." Part of him wants to ask, _would you come with me, if you could?_ but what's the point. Sid can't come to Vegas, any more than Flower can stay in Pittsburgh. What would either of them get from forcing the other to say that they'd put hockey first; what would either of them get if someone said that they'd put their relationship first, knowing that they can't?

Sid goes quiet, and Flower thinks they're done with the conversation, or even that he's fallen asleep. He's just trying to decide between letting them both sleep and struggling through the trek to Sid's bedroom when Sid, sounding as though he's mostly asleep, says, "It won't be forever, right?"

Flower closes his eyes, feels like crying, and promises, "It won't be forever," despite having no idea how either of them will keep that promise.

*

In the few days before Flower's first regular season game with the Knights, Geno, Tanger, a nervous group of what Geno calls the baby penguins, and Duper all ask if he wants to watch the game with them. "Come to your house," Geno even offers, a big concession when he openly hates Sid's house and only ever visits for team events. "Bring Niki."

Sid actually wouldn't mind having Geno and his baby for company, but he's having a hard enough time finding the line between an acceptable amount of publicly missing Flower and making his team wonder if there's something they don't know about.

There's nothing worse for keeping a secret than letting someone on the team wonder if there's something they don't know about.

"No, but thanks," he says to Geno and Kris and the baby Penguins, and, "Maybe next time," to Duper, because if they're ever going to tell anyone, he's who they'll tell, and then he goes home alone.

Vero texts him right before puck drop: _They weren't joking about the pomp and circumstance_ with a photo of the castle at the top of the stands. Sid laughs, sends her back a picture of his TV screen showing the same thing, and gets, _Estelle says hello. Scarlett sends cuddles,_ which makes him tear up.

He blinks the moisture away, annoyed and resigned: since that last kiss goodbye, Flower's cab waiting for him, Sid's turned into the kind of weepy mess that he thought he'd left behind when he became a Penguin and decided that adults don't deal with stuff by hiding away and sniffling about it. 

Except, apparently, the love of their life moving to another city to play hockey with another team.

Sid watches Flower skate out in a new jersey, on new ice, and decides he can be as unhappy about it as he wants, alone in his house without even a dog to notice.

And then Vegas win it, and Flower's brilliant, and it shouldn't be worse because the Penguins just lost 10-1 to the fucking Blackhawks, but it is. Sid looks at Flower, accepting head pats and shoulder bumps and even a couple of hugs, and thinks about all the games they've won together, all the sweaty, breathless hugs, all the warm, sweet hours before Flower went home to Vero and the girls, and that one time they didn't even make it out of the parking lot and were so lucky no-one came to see why Sid's car hadn't left yet.

Sid's in bed when his laptop chimes for an incoming Skype call, an hour or so after he'd started reminding himself of the time difference, tired after the game, first game with a new team… None of which he apparently believed, since he's wide awake and takes the call before the second chime has even faded.

Flower's whole face fills the screen, like he's calling on his cell, and Sidney swallows because he's doing a really good job of not being a weepy mess in front of Flower and has no intention of that changing. Flower's smiling, which makes it easier, a little gleeful, but his eyes are soft, the way they always are looking at Sid, his hair's pushed away under a backwards cap that Sid doesn't even care probably says Vegas, and he looks just the way he always looked after good games, tired and happy and thrilled with the world.

"I love you," Sid says, because he wants to throw himself into Flower's arms the way he's only really allowed to do on the ice, and this is the closest he can get to that right now. And because he means it, more than he ever thought he could, and because, when he says it, when Flower says it back, it's like none of the distance between them really exists, and he can believe Flower's promise that this won't be forever.

"I love you, too," Flower says, still smiling, and if they just smile at each other, tired and happy, until someone calls for Flower and he heads back into the bar – well, no-one's ever going to know that except the two of them.

*

Marc-Andre wakes up in a dark room with a headache that can't be anything but a concussion and someone moving around in the darkness, and says, "Sid?" without even thinking about it.

"Non," Vero says softly, "C'est moi."

Marc-Andre's aching brain takes a while to work through the logic: he's not in Sid's guest room, where he spent most of his time during the last concussion, away from the noise and too-fast movement of his girls, absorbing Sid's awkward, gentle care. If he's not there, then this is a new concussion, one that he didn't get in Pittsburgh – because he's in Vegas, because now he's a Knight not a Penguin, even if a part of him will be a Penguin forever, and Vegas is great in a lot of ways, but not in how it doesn't have Sid. 

"Sorry," he says, not entirely certain what he's apologising for, or even if he has anything to apologise for. His head really hurts, and he wants Sid.

Vero sits carefully on the edge of the bed, and runs her fingers gently through his hair. It makes everything feel better, the way he always does with her. "I let you sleep," she says in French, "And the girls are with Jenny next door for the day. You can take your meds and go back to sleep."

"Oui," Marc-Andre says, remembering in time that it's not a good idea to nod. 

"Sid called," Vero adds. "Once last night, and twice this morning." Marc-Andre can hear the smile in her voice. "So," she says, leaning close, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, "That one's from me-" another, to his cheek – "And that one's from Sid."

"I love you," Marc-Andre says back.

*

Flower, when Skype connects, looks like he already knows what Sid's going to say, and that's worse than disappointing him, knowing that he's already reconciled to Sid not being able to make it. "I'm really sorry," Sid says.

"I know." Flower touches one finger to the screen, and Sid mirrors it, even knowing they won't match up on Flower's end. Sid's still in the jeans and hoodie he threw on after training, not wanting to wait even long enough to change. Despite the time in Vegas, Flower's clearly still in bed, hair a mess and covers pulled to his shoulders. He looks soft and warm, and Sid aches with wanting to be there, to touch for real, not through a screen. "It was a mad idea, Sid."

It was, probably, but it had seemed reasonable, in his hotel room after the OT loss to Nashville, hardly more than an hour's flight from Flower, recovering but not recovered from his concussion. "I could just get on a plane," Sid had said, reckless with the way Flower still sometimes closed his eyes against the brightness of the computer screen when they Skyped, hating that it's been a month and Sid hasn't even been able to give him a hug. "What are they going to do to me?"

"I don't know," Flower had said, "But I do know that you can't skip out on the team to come see me without anyone asking questions," and Sid, drilled for decades on how people see him, had swallowed the urge to say screw it and go anyway, damn what people made of it.

They've got five days between Chicago and Vancouver, both games at home, even an off day in the middle. It's not even a five hour flight – Sid could leave right after practice, have nearly a whole day, but… But he's got a PR thing on Monday morning, one that he could probably get out of if he invoked personal reasons, but he never invokes personal reasons, and there's no way he could sneak in and out of Vegas without anyone noticing.

"I'm really sorry," he says again.

"Me, too. It would have been really good to see you." Flower's expression softens, letting Sid see how genuinely disappointed he is. "But you're coming to Vegas in less than a month, and I fully intend to be playing then."

"Don't jinx it," Sid says automatically, then, "You got good news?"

"Solid amber lights, some edging into green," Flower says, and it hurts to be hearing everything by Skype instead of in-person, but there's very little about this situation that doesn't hurt, softening out all the individual hurts into an ache that they're both, almost, learning to ignore.

*

It's a weird sensation to be walking around a hockey arena he's not been to before, but the T-Mobile Arena isn't that different from any other arena Sid's been in, so it's easy enough to find a mostly empty network of corridors in the bowels of the place. He's not entirely surprised, when he hears someone say his name as he passes a store-room, to turn and find Flower in his game day suit, leaning against the wall and grinning at him.

Sid, embarrassingly, bursts into tears.

"Hey, no." Flower gathers him in close, turning them so they're tucked into the closet. "Ssh, no, I'm here."

"Sorry," Sid says, still crying, pressing his face into Flower's shoulder and probably getting tears all over his jacket. "Sorry, god, I'm not –"

"Ssh," Flower says again. "It's all right, it's fine," and then he just keeps murmuring in French, too soft and low for Sid to understand when he's struggling to catch his breath, but comforting all the same. 

He stops crying pretty quickly, though he keeps leaking tears even after he blows his nose and takes some deep breaths, especially when Flower gives him another hug and says, "Hi, Sidney," right in his ear.

"Sorry," Sid repeats, once he's got himself basically under control. "I just – you surprised me."

Flower makes a face, Sid feels it from how they're still holding onto each other. "I texted you, I thought you'd want to be warned. I thought you knew I was down here."

"Oh." Sid's not actually sure where his phone is; in his bag, hopefully, but he's not entirely sure it's not still on the kitchen table at home. This morning was not his best morning. "I'm so glad we're here," he says, instead of telling Flower that. "It's so good to see you. How's your head?"

Flower laughs. "Can I at least get a kiss hello before you start mother-henning me?" he asks, and they end up kissing for so long that Sid forgets completely about his phone and Flower's head and even, a little, about the game.

*

"Hey," Flower says later – after the reunion, after the game, after the awkward-happy feeling of winning, but against the one team he always used to win with, not against. Before, they'd have gone to Sid's the night after a home game, or sometimes to Flower's if they had a couple of days off, long enough for their little family to be together and the girls not to have to wonder about Sid arriving while they're asleep and leaving right after they wake up. Even though they're sprawled together on Sid's bed, like they used to on away nights, it's still weird; the Penguins have a curfew, and Flower has to leave before most of them return, which has never been an issue before. 

"Hey," Flower says again when Sid just stays where he is, head on Flower's shoulder, one hand still curled loosely round his hip. "I didn't know it was this bad."

He feels Sid stiffen, though he still doesn't say anything. Flower can practically hear the minimising running through Sid's head – that he didn't have to leave his home, the team he thought he'd finish out his career with, that he didn't have to move his entire family across the country – and he pets Sid's hair a little, waiting for him to get through that.

"I just miss you," Sid says quietly, shifting a bit like he tried to shrug while lying down. "It's weird playing without you, it's…"

"Are you lonely?"

Sid shakes his head. "I just miss you. We've been together five years, I miss being actually together."

"I do, too." Of the two of them, Sid's the one who comes up with solutions, and Flower's the one who offers hugs and jokes, but he's pretty much the only person Sid can talk to about this, so he feels kind of responsible for offering solutions. "We could revisit the exclusivity thing."

Sid goes completely still for a long moment, then says, "No," sounding as wretched as he did that last night in Pittsburgh before Flower left for good. Sid lifts his head, resting his chin on Flower's chest and looking at him, unhappiness all over his face. "No," he says again. "I just want you."

They've had this conversation before, when they first started up and Flower asked if it was fair, that Sid only had him when he had Sid and Vero; if Sid wanted someone else. Sid had said no then as well, just as certain, and Flower hadn't asked any more questions, though now he wishes, a little, that he had. "It would be okay," he says instead. 

"I don't want to," Sid says, firm and unhappy and frustrated, maybe angry. His whole body is tense against Flower's, but he's not moving away. "It sucks that you're so far away now, and it's hard to get used to when I still feel like I'm going to see you everywhere, but I just want you. Even when it sucks being apart." His smile's kind of wobbly and a bit unhappy still. "I just love you."

Flower kisses him, unsure what to say when he feels kind of wobbly and a bit unhappy himself. "It won't be like this forever," he promises again when they separate, and he doesn't know any better how they'll make that true than he did the last time he said it, but he means it, even more.

*

Vero and Marc-Andre agreed, when he and Sid started, on some ground rules, one of which was that certain times, except under exceptional circumstances, would always be reserved for Vero and the girls. Christmas was the first of those that they agreed on, and Marc-Andre's glad for it this year. They stay in Vegas, just the four of them, Estelle complaining every day that it's too hot, it's not Christmas without snow, why won't it snow, Papa?

"She doesn't even remember snow at Christmas," Marc-Andre complains to Vero after the third straight night that Estelle demands he read every book she has about snowmen. Vero just laughs at him, which is probably fair.

"You know if we go home next year, she'll complain about it being cold," he says, following Vero into the kitchen for their traditional post-girls'-bedtime coffee.

"This is nice, too," Vero says. Marc-Andre's grateful that she doesn't ask where he means when he says home, standing in their own kitchen in the house they bought when it was confirmed that he'd be playing with the Knights, that he wouldn't be sent down. "It's nice not to spend an hour putting on boots and coats every time I want to take the girls out."

"Yeah." Marc-Andre takes the two coffee cups from her and wraps his arms around her waist, kisses the corner of her eye. "Je t'aime."

*

Having Flower back at Consol is much worse than seeing him at his new arena. They're lucky, that Flower flies in a day before the team, so they've got past the way Sid gets teary-eyed and clingy when he first sees Flower, but that doesn't change how awkward it is to pretend he's seeing Flower for the first time in front of the cameras. He still wants to cling, is the problem, and because he can't, it's like his brain and his body can't talk to each other enough for a hug.

Tanger, because he's known both of them a really long time, notices and, because he's decided to fill in for all of the Penguins' past French-Canadians, corners Sid in his stall while Flower's being escorted to meet with Mario. "You two are all right?" he asks softly.

Sid wishes he had something in his hands to focus on, but there's nothing; he watches his twisted together hands instead. "We're fine. It's good to see him again."

"Yes," Kris says slowly. "And you're sure you two are all right?"

Sid rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. It's just weird. I was just getting used to him not being here."

Kris doesn't say anything, which is probably for the best – they've been playing without Flower for months, more than long enough for the adjustment period to have passed, even after all the time they played together. Sid knows Flower would be perfectly fine with him telling Kris why he's like this. What he doesn't know is what Kris would say about it; he was fine when Sid came out as gay to him, but this is a bit different. Sid doesn't know anyone else in the kind of relationship he has with Flower, and while he wouldn't be surprised if Kris, or at least Catherine does, he can't help feeling like him and Flower will seem different somehow. For him, it always seemed like it would be easy, like he could see how it would work the same way he could see how a hockey play would work, which made starting it up simpler than it could have been, but means he doesn't have any explanation for how well it works other than that it does. 

Or, it works as well as it can, when he's in Pittsburgh and Flower's in Vegas and there's no way to change any of it.

"It's hard," Kris says. "I think it just gets harder every time."

Sid nods. "And it's Flower," he says.

*

Flower's just saying goodbye to Vero on the phone when his hotel room door beeps and opens to reveal Sidney, still in the suit he always wears for the start of the All Star Weekend. He stops just inside the door as Flower says, "Hang on, Sid's here," then moves the phone just enough to tell Sid, "Vero says hi."

"Oh," Sid says uncertainly. Flower expects him to come sit on the bed – they've done this before, on road trips, talked to Vero together with Flower's cell held between them – so he's a little surprised when Sid hesitates by the door for a moment, then says, "Come find me later, if you want," as he slips back out.

"Sid?" Vero asks.

Flower frowns at the closed door. "He's gone." It's the first All-Star weekend he and Sid have both been at, and Flower's been maybe a little giddy about an entire weekend together, with hockey, since they got confirmation they were both going. He wasn't expecting it to go like this.

"That's strange," Vero says. "Go on, go and find him."

She doesn't really need to say it – like Christmas with Vero, they agreed at the beginning that Flower and Sid's time together, being so much less than his and Vero's, is more self-contained – but it feels good to hear anyway. "I love you," he says, and, "I'll call the girls before bed," and then he goes to find Sid.

Well, Sid's hotel room, anyway – Sid's a creature of habit, retreats back to home when he's anxious, and his hotel room is the closest he can get right now. Flower lets himself in and finds Sid stood in the middle of the room, suit jacket missing and phone in his hand.

"You didn't have to hang up with Vero," he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket and coming over to Flower for a hug. "Hi."

"Hi." Flower kisses him, a little more than the everyday hello type kisses they exchanged when they were seeing each other all the time, then holds on when Sid seems like he's going to step back. There's a moment when he thinks he made the wrong choice, before Sid sighs a little and snuggles in closer. "It's good to see you."

"You too." Sid nuzzles at Flower's neck a little. "Do you want to call Vero back? Finish up whatever you were talking about?"

Flower loves Sid, as much as, if differently from, he loves Vero, and it's always worked. Listening to Sid, though, he's suddenly not at all sure the last part is still true. "Can we talk?" he asks, as softly as he can make it.

Sid still tenses and pulls away, everything in him closing off. "Why?"

"Hey, no." Flower reaches for Sid's hand, holds on when Sid lets him take it. "This isn't a break-up conversation. Can we sit down?"

They do, leaning against the headboard of the bed, still holding hands. "What's wrong?" Sid asks, not making eye contact.

"I was going to ask you." Flower squeezes Sid's hand and guesses, pretty sure he's right. "I feel like you think I chose Vero – like my relationship with her is more important than with you."

"I don't," Sid says, too fast to be anything but the truth. 

"But there's something," Flower presses. "I believe you that you don't want to change things, but something's wrong, I know you."

Sid shifts, brings their joined hands up to rub at his eyes. "I don't know how it works any more," he says quietly. "It feels like I'm stealing this time from Vero, and there's a giant countdown clock on it. Except sometimes I forget that you're not coming back to Pittsburgh with me, and that it'd be so much easier to just…"

"Just what?" Flower asks, just as quietly.

"Just stop." Sid's hand tightens on Flower's until it almost hurts. 

"I don't want to stop." Flower squeezes back. "I know it's hard right now, but it's worth it, to me – Sid, it's so worth it, I wouldn't ever want to be without you."

Sid turns abruptly, pressing his face into Flower's neck. "Me either," he says, muffled. "I don't – you'd tell me, if… I don't know. If it wasn't working. If I was messing up."

Flower hugs him awkwardly, still holding hands. "I promise."

Sid shudders, an all-over wave of tension releasing. "We'll make it work," he says, like a promise.

"Hey," Flower says after a while of the two of them just hugging and breathing together, "Now that we've decided we're sticking it out, and bearing in mind that someone's going to come and demand hockey from us in the not too distant future, how do you feel about having sex now?"

Sid laughs a little. "You're not going to romance me at all first?"

"Do I need to?" Flower runs his free hand down Sidney's back, feels the shiver that follows. "I don't think I need to."

"Yeah, probably not," Sid says, and leans back to strip off his shirt.

It's been a few weeks since they last got to do this, simultaneously far too long and no time at all, but whichever way he thinks about it, Flower's never going to lose interest in looking at Sid without his clothes on. "You're so pretty," he says, loving how Sid blushes when he says that, and loving it even more when Sid tries to hide his blushing by leaning in close, his hands resting lightly on Flower's waist as they kiss, slow and deep.

"You want to, like this?" Flower asks, pulling away slowly. He's not sure when he wrapped his arms around Sid or when he pulled him close, but he's clearly done both, and finds he doesn't really want to stop. Sid's hands slide under Flower's shirt, firm enough not to be ticklish, sending sparks of warmth up Flower's spine and down into his hardening dick. He can feel that Sid's in the same shape, and rocks their hips together, making them both groan.

"Yeah," Sid says, right against Flower's mouth as he dips in for another kiss. "Condoms and lube in the nightstand."

"You're prepared," Flower teases, fumbling the drawer open without looking.

"Always," Sid agrees, and pushes up on his knees to wriggle out of his suit pants. 

Even with the curtains open, light streaming in – something that Flower fervently hopes Sid won't notice, since being on the tenth floor won't make him feel any better about it – the whole thing feels slow and syrupy, the kind of sex they'd have late at night, kissing and touching, not stopping even as Sid sinks down onto Flower's cock with a drawn out moan. They rock together for what feels like hours, Sid's cock slick and wet against Flower's stomach as they move, holding onto each other, kissing and shivering together as Sid's shuddering climax brings Flower right along with him.

After, they shift around until they're mostly under the covers, Flower on his back and Sid curled against him, head on his shoulder. "You okay?" Flower asks, petting Sid's sweaty curls back from his face.

Sid nods. "Can we stay here for a bit?"

"Nothing till dinner, unless someone comes looking for you."

"Tanger will, for one of us." Sid cuddles in closer, not sounding bothered by the idea of being interrupted. Maybe he doesn't plan on answering the door, though Flower's kind of excited about seeing Kris again for more than a game. "It's okay."

"Close your eyes," Flower says quietly.

"Yeah." Sid's eyelashes flutter against Flower's bare skin. "I'm really tired."

"Sleep some," Flower says. "I've got you."

*

"This isn't going to OT," Sid says with five minutes left before they're back on the ice for the third period of their first playoff game.

Tanger, standing next to him, rolls his eyes. "We're five zero up with one period to go, so no, probably not."

"No, I mean –" It's going to sound ridiculous, but Sid's started now, he might as well commit, "I meant that we have to make sure we don't go into OT."

Geno, texting with Anna on Sid's other side, gives him some serious side-eye. "Would have to turn into Oilers, I think. Or maybe whole team out on penalties."

The mental image of an entire team of hockey players crammed into a penalty box is enough for Sid to crack a smile, even with the anxious eye he's keeping on the clock. "I know. I'm just making sure."

"Oh," Kris says suddenly, too knowing. 

Sid feels him and Geno exchange looks over his head, and then Geno nudges him. "You only have one goal," he says. "Maybe Giroux scores five on his own?"

"Shut up," Sid says, laughing. At least he knows he's being ridiculous; that has to count for something. "It's just, I promised I'd watch them skate out, I don't want to miss it."

Kris gives him the best hug he can manage when they're both in full kit and Sid's holding his stick. "We won't miss it," he promises.

Sid gets two more goals in the third period anyway, just to be really sure.

He also stays up far too late watching Vegas slaughter the Kings, leaning closer and closer as the minutes tick down until the buzzer sounds and the announcers start talking about Flower getting a shut-out in his first playoff game with the Knights. 

_You're wonderful,_ he texts, even knowing Flower won't get it for ages, watching Flower accept hugs and head taps and wanting to be there so bad his hands itch with it.

_Congratulations,_ he adds, and, _I miss you, call me if you can,_ because they agreed after the All Star Weekend that saying it at best won't make things any worse, which definitely isn't true for not saying it.

His phone chimes way too soon for Flower to be doing anything but calling while he's still at the rink, so Sid's not surprised when he answers and hears the echo of empty corridors when Flower speaks. "Congratulations," he says again, a little glad that Flower's not Skyping and therefore can't see the ridiculous grin on his face. "I'll never get tired of watching you do that."

"You're one to talk, seven zero, what are they feeding you up there?" Flower chirps back, but Sid can hear how he's grinning, how thrilled he is to be doing what he loves and showing everyone how good he is at it. 

"Sure," Sid says, "But it was against the Flyers."

Flower laughs, warm and so happy. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't try to make Giroux cry this season."

"I can't help that we're so much better than them," Sid says, only half-joking. "But seriously – you played an amazing game. All of you, but especially you."

They don't talk about what will happen if they both keep playing like this, but that's okay; Sid tells Flower that he loves him and his hockey, even when he's playing it for another team, and Flower makes Sid promise another score like their first game, and just for a few minutes, they both manage not to think about the pressure for a third consecutive Cup, for a first year Cup as a new team.

"I love you," Sid says when he's too tired to stay awake, no matter how much he wants to, and Flower says, "Je t'aime," back, and, "Sweet dreams, Sidney."

*

The Knights have already won their series when Marc-Andre watches the Penguins battle it out with the Caps in the Game Six they need to win for a chance to progress. He should be thinking about the Jets, whether they'll be able to pull out the series win tonight, hoping that they don't so they go into Round Three tired, give the Knights a better start, but instead he's watching the team he won two consecutive Cups with fight it out all the way to OT only to go out on a goal from Kuznetsov.

Estelle, who only sort of understands that her papa doesn't play for the Penguins any longer, confused by the fact that Uncle Sidney still does and that most of her life has involved Papa and Uncle Sidney playing together, gives Marc-Andre a hug and asks, "Now what?"

Marc-Andre hauls her into his lap, muting the post-game coverage so he can hear Vero pacing upstairs with Scarlett, who's not in favour of bedtime when the sun's still shining. "I'm not sure," he tells Estelle. He and Sid haven't talked about this, Sid not wanting to jinx things for either of them, and Marc-Andre just not wanting to face the conversation. Sid will probably head back to Canada and watch the rest of the playoffs hidden away in the lake house, finding new ways to answer the question of whether he's disappointed that the Penguins couldn't take the Cup for the third time. "You'll have to save all of your cheering for me," he tells Estelle.

She frowns at him, and Marc-Andre offers the silly stuffed Knight doll he bought each of the girls after his first game in Vegas. "You remember that I don't play for the Penguins any longer?"

She shakes her head. "But Uncle Sidney still does."

Marc-Andre hugs her closer. "Yeah, he does."

He texts condolences to Sid, not expecting a reply, familiar as he is with the press insanity that descends on Sid at the end of every series, no matter the outcome. It's worse this time, because they lost, and because they lost to the Capitals, so he's not surprised to find himself going to bed without a message back from Sid. _Text me if you want to talk,_ he sends as he gets into bed with Vero, who's already dozing over her book, but he's not surprised to sleep all night and wake up to a message Sid sent at a little after midnight in Pittsburgh that just says, _Thanks._

He gives it till early afternoon in Vegas, just in case Sid went out and got drunk with the team, then calls, not entirely expecting Sid to answer, and definitely not expecting Sid to answer with, "Flower! Perfect timing," and sounding like he's smiling.

"I try," Flower says, kind of thrown when he was expecting Sid to still be down about the loss. He makes the split second decision not to bring it up if Sid doesn't, and says, "How're you?"

"I got a call from nhl.com," Sid says; Flower can't tell if that's an answer or not. "They asked if I wanted to write some stuff about the rest of the playoffs, the Knights, all that. Talk to the other players, who's new to the playoffs and who's done it before, how it's different with the Knights."

Flower's brain gets stuck on 'talk to the other players,' and the focus on the Knights. "From Cole Harbour?"

"No," Sid says, a frown audible in his voice. "From Vegas. I mean, I'd rent a place, obviously."

"Obviously," Flower echoes, because they never spent the night at each others' houses during the playoffs. Then: "I thought you'd be going home, after last night."

Sid just breathes for a moment, then laughs, self-deprecating. "I mostly just wanted an excuse to come to Vegas," he says, and Flower hears how he means, but doesn't say, that he thinks of Vegas, in part, as home as well, because Flower and the rest of his family are there.

"Are you all right? I didn't… I wasn't expecting you to come here."

Even from Vegas, Flower knows how much pressure there was on the Penguins – on Sid – to pull out the third consecutive Cup, something that quite literally hasn't happened in Sid's life-time, and he knows how Sid likes to hide out for a while after disappointments. Coming to Vegas and Flower sounds like hiding out, coming on a press pass sounds anything but, and there's absolutely no chance that Sid will be able to fly under the radar at the conference finals. 

"I miss you," Sid says, which isn't entirely an answer. "And I want to be there, and… it didn't feel right, without you. Like if we're going to make that kind of history, you should have been with us."

"Sid," Flower breathes, helpless and aching to touch, because Sid is – hockey will always be Sid's most important thing, and he knows Sid would have played all out no matter what, but to have Sid say that not making it is easier because of the two of them… Flower honestly doesn't have the words for how that feels. "I love you," he says, because that's never the wrong thing to say, and, "I want you here. Please come."

*

"Come for dinner before you go home?" Geno offers at locker clear-out, the two of them hanging out in the still-bustling locker room to wait on Tanger for the traditional end of season captain and As meeting/gossip session.

"Maybe," Sid says.

"Play hockey with Niki. Anna's cook," Geno adds, like Sid really needs to be tempted over.

"Maybe, if we can do it on Friday. I've got an early flight on Saturday."

"For Cole Harbour?" Geno asks, because he knows Sid's routine for flying home way too well.

"No." Sid hesitates, but there's no chance that Geno won't find out what's happening, and it's not even like he really wants to keep it secret. "I'm going to Winnipeg for the first game. Nhl.com asked me to write something about the Knights."

Geno blinks like he's probably seeing right through that excuse, which is fair, when Sid's turned down pretty much every offer ever to write or talk about hockey in any kind of press capacity. He doesn't get a chance to say anything though because Murray, who has ears like a bat, pipes up with, "You're going to watch Flower play?"

"I'm going because I said yes to nhl.com," Sid corrects, "But yes, mainly for that."

"That's cool," Olli puts in, looking interested instead of miserable for the first time since the loss. "He'll be so happy to see you."

Sid ducks his head so no-one will see how that makes him blush; it's not like he and Flower are going to sleep together in the team hotel in Winnipeg, but it's also not like they aren't going to sleep together as soon as they have a half-decent opportunity back in Vegas.

"We should totally do a road-trip to see him," someone says – Sid can't tell who with his head still down, and someone else says, "You really want to drive for twenty-four hours to see one of the teams that's about to win the Cup?"

"Not the Lightning?" Dumo asks.

"Hell, no, not the Lightning, we'd have beaten them in the next round, they don't deserve to win it all," Murray says, like that makes any sense, and then the baby Penguins are off on the topic of who has the best chance at the Cup and why, and Sid thinks the whole thing's been forgotten.

He really should have known better. If he had, he wouldn't be as surprised as he is when he gets through Security and finds no less than six Penguins waiting for him. "What are you doing here?" he asks, as though there can really be any other answer.

"Winnipeg's too far for a road trip," Kessel says, shrugging.

"I can't believe they roped you into this," Sid tells him. The others – Dumo, Olli, Murray, Guentzel and Shearsy – are exactly the kind of young and impulsive to do this, but Sid's always counted Phil as one of the older, sensible core, as much as any group of hockey players can be said to be that.

Phil shrugs again. "It's going to be a good game."

"The hockey, or this lot let loose on Winnipeg?" Sid asks, but he's already heading towards coffee, baby Penguins behind him, so there's not much point arguing.

He sends Flower a picture of them all, half-asleep in a row of seats by the gate, clutching identical Starbucks cups, _They followed me home._

_You have to feed and walk them if you want to keep them,_ Flower sends back, then, _Are they our cheering squad?_

Sid hasn't asked whether anyone has signs in their carry-on bags, but he'd put money on the answer being yes if he does. _Apparently,_ he tells Flower.

*

Sid watches the Knights lose their first game, never quite managing to recover from the Jets' three goals in the first seven minutes, and then makes his way down to the locker rooms. He hides in a storage closet while the press are doing their thing, texts Flower, _I'm out here when you're ready,_ \- Sid's staying at the same hotel as the team, and catching a ride back on the team bus.

The tap on the door comes a lot sooner than Sid's expecting, which is explained by how Flower obviously hasn't showered yet, still wearing his Under Armor, his hair flopping over his eyes. He gives Sid the familiarly wry smile that follows a loss at a game that could have gone a lot worse and says, "You might not want to hug me yet."

In a suit while Flower's all sweaty from a game reminds Sid too strongly of the year he was out with the concussion, when he was well enough to go to games but not well enough to play in them. He steps in close, gets wrapped up in the kind of all-encompassing hug that he hasn't had in way too long, and doesn't even care that yes, he's definitely getting difficult to explain sweat-stains on his suit jacket. "You'll get the next one," he says, pressing a kiss to Flower's neck, feeling his pulse still fast from the game.

"I know," Flower says, supremely confident in a way they didn't hear much, his last year with the Penguins. "You're going to love watching it."

Sid doesn't have any particular animosity against the Jets, who he sort of vaguely feels he should be cheering for as the only remaining Canadian team with a chance for the Cup this year, but he can't deny how much he loves watching Flower deny shots on his goal, relentless and vicious and entirely in control. He presses a little closer, feels that Flower's starting to get turned on, or maybe is still a little turned on from the game. 

Sid slides his hand between them, cupping Flower and pressing gently. Even through a layer of clothing, he can feel how it makes Flower's cock twitch, but he still says, "You want to?" tipping his head to look at Flower through his eyelashes. 

Flower rolls his hips into Sid's hand. "What happened to your brood?"

"Phil's keeping them out of trouble." Flower laughs, reaching down to press Sid's hand a little tighter around his hardening cock. "He promised not to let them start a turf war or set the place on fire while I was away," Sid adds.

"In that case," Flower says with an expansive hand gesture, and Sid gets on his knees, trying not to think about the probable state of the storage room floor, or the fact that he's blowing his partner in someone else's rink.

Flower doesn't last long, tangling his fingers in Sid's hair to hold him in place while Flower fucks his mouth shallowly, murmuring in French about how good it feels. Sid just concentrates on keeping his mouth soft, catching the head on his tongue the way Flower likes, breathing in the sweat and exertion smell of Flower at the end of a game, still so familiar even after almost a year without it.

Flower comes with a soft moan, sliding down the wall until they're curled together on the floor. He laughs a little at the face Sid makes as he swallows, something he always likes the idea of far more than he likes the reality, and kisses Sid gently. "It's really good to see you," he says, still in French.

Sid curls close for more kisses, the last of the loss to the Caps seeping away in how good it feels to be here. Not that he wouldn't love to be in Pittsburgh right now, planning for their next game against Tampa, but this is a really, really close second.

"Someone's going to be looking for you," he says, when sleeping on the floor starts to seem like a good idea. Flower grumbles in a way that suggests Sid wasn't the only one starting to doze off, but lets Sid pull him to his feet and re-order his clothes. There's nothing much to be done about his hair, starting to dry in weird shapes, but he just played a hockey game, so he can probably get away with it.

Until he opens the closet door, and comes face to back with Dumo, lurking outside the visitor locker room door. 

If Sid wasn't so doped up on cuddles, they probably could have still closed the door in time not to be seen. Instead, he says, "Oh," like an idiot, and of course Dumo turns around.

Flower on his own could probably have conceivably passed himself off as coming off a hockey game, nothing to see here, even with the intensely relaxed look he gets after sex. Sid could maybe even have passed off the sweaty patches on his suit as transfer from hugging Flower, if no-one looked too closely at his knees.

The two of them coming out of a storage closet together can't really pass for anything other than, yes, we just had sex in a closet.

"Oh." Dumo's eyes flick between the two of them, but he collects himself faster than Sid was half-expecting. "Um, the others sent me to find you, Sid. In case you wanted to share a cab back to the hotel."

"No, I'm riding with the team," Sid says on auto-pilot. For a second, he entertains the idea of just pretending nothing happened, that his secret relationship with his married ex-teammate didn't just get outed to one of the rookies. Then Flower's sharp elbow in his side reminds him that he's a responsible grown-up and captain, and so he can't ostrich his way through this moment. "I know this probably looks…" There's no word that goes there. Sid starts again. "We can talk in the morning, you and me. But I promise no-one's cheating on anyone else, and I need you to promise not to say anything to the others until Flower and I have talked, and you and me."

Dumo looks between the two of them again, his face flushing around the fading bruising to his jaw. "It's none of my business," he says, but it sounds too much like a question to be as convincing as he'd obviously like. "I mean – I can just, I can pretend I didn't see anything. That I couldn't find either of you."

"That would help a lot with not saying anything to the others." Sid wishes, desperately, that they didn't need to have this conversation, or at least that he knew how to have it. "We'll talk in the morning, I promise."

"Dumo," Flower says softly. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt Vero or Sid. Not ever."

It must be the right thing to say, for all that it makes Sid feel kind of choked up, because Dumo nods and says, "I'm rooming with Shearsy, but he'll probably sleep late. If you want to talk without him knowing."

"Thank you," Sid says with all the relief he can muster. "I appreciate that."

Dumo shrugs. "You're my captain, right? I always trusted you before, I don't see how this is any different."

*

Sid seems okay on the bus – quiet, but friendly – and in the elevator up to the Knights' floor, but by the time Flower's keying open his own hotel room, he can feel Sid's incipient freak-out. 

Sure enough, the door's barely closed when Sid sinks down on the end of the bed and groans, "How can we have been so stupid?"

It's a fair question, when they kept the secret through years of playing together, but at the same time – "It was bad timing, not stupidity," Flower says, because they've been apart for months, which makes wanting to be close and getting careless completely normal, not stupid. He goes to sit next to Sid, doesn't touch, still feeling Sid's tension radiating outwards, only exacerbated by the way he's twisting his fingers together and not looking at Flower. "You can talk to him in the morning, he didn't seem like he was going to go running off and tell everyone."

Sid presses his lips together, hunches further in on himself. "I don't want any of them to know. I don't want to talk about it with any of them, or answer questions, or – any of it. I just want to be with you."

He sounds close to tears, and Flower knows it's at least partly a culmination of the last nine months catching up with him, but that doesn't change how it makes Flower's heart ache to hear it. He presses a kiss to Sid's temple and feels how Sid's trembling. "I know." He hesitates, not sure how to phrase the rest so Sid doesn't get mad or descend into a full-on panicky freak-out. "I think we were probably lucky to keep it secret for so long," he says slowly. "Now you have someone who knows what's going on, if you need it."

"I'm not talking to the rookies about our sex life," Sid says firmly.

"Well, no." With Sid, unlike with Vero, Flower always has their arguments in English, because Sid is self-conscious about his mediocre French, and doesn't do well with emotions when he knows he's only getting 75% of what Flower's saying and is missing the nuance. "But, Sid, things can't carry on like this."

"Like what?" 

"This!" Flower throws his hands up in the air and doesn't care that it's a cliché. "Where you're really unhappy and not telling me, and you're always one bad day from deciding to end the whole thing because you think I've changed my mind."

"I'm not unhappy," Sid says, definitely sounding like he's lying.

"You took an nhl.com contract to come up here, because you were the least upset about the play-offs that I've ever seen you. So either you turned into a pod person who doesn't care about hockey and the Penguins, or you're unhappy. I've known you a really long time, Sid."

"I'm not unhappy," Sid says again. "And I missed you."

"Hey." Flower catches his shoulder, pulls Sid round just enough to meet his eyes. "Tell me the truth."

"I miss you," Sid repeats, eyes flicking away. "I don't want to be miserable when I'm with you."

Some days, Flower genuinely wonders if Sid traded emotional intelligence for hockey brilliance. "That's not how it works," he says gently. "You know it's not, it's never worked like that."

"It's different now," Sid says, very quietly, and Flower holds in a sigh of relief that they're finally talking about that. 

"I know. But that part's not different, not if we're still together." Sid doesn't say anything, but he does let Flower take his hand. "It's okay if it sucks and you tell me, or if it sucks when we're together. It's not – it won't work if you and me is supposed to be perfect and happy every time we're together, not if it's going to stay something more than just a hook-up."

Sid shakes his head. "It's so much harder now than when you were still in Pittsburgh. I don't want it to be so hard it stops being worth it for you."

"That's not going to happen just because you admit that this sucks and you're unhappy. We're partners, Sid, we're a team, still, you and me. It doesn't work if we're faking it."

"I'm just – it feels so much easier when we're together, I don't want to think about the rest of it."

Flower leans in, presses their foreheads together. "I think that's why it helps to have someone who knows," he says gently. "Then it's not a choice between stewing in miserable silence, or talking about it to me and then feeling guilty and scared."

Sid shivers, closes his eyes. "It's scary."

"For me too," Flower says. "Because maybe you'll decide it's too hard, or find someone in Pittsburgh, that doesn't have to be so much of a secret."

"I won't," Sid says firmly.

"I know. But you know I won't either, and you're still scared."

Sid laughs softly. "You're good at this," he says, eyes still closed, and then, "We should talk, you and me, about telling some of the others. If you want."

"I want," Flower says, smiling, pleased to see Sid smile too, some of the tension in the room fading. "It'll be better like that, I promise."

"I know," Sid says. "I trust you."


End file.
